"De-al! D'l! D'l!" bawled the porters, and the train stopped with a jerk, which nearly threw the occupants of the carriage off their feet.
In the confusion of arrival the navvy slipped away, and Clare was unable to get any more information.
Having engaged a fly, the friends proceeded to Kingsdown, Jerry evidently very much puzzled at the navvy's manner, yet unwilling to alarm Tom, who seemed to be utterly unconscious of anything but the approaching meeting with Polly.
When they arrived at the cottage it was twilight, and lights were gleaming from the front windows. Thompson paid the driver, and, taking the baggage, walked up the pathway after his friend, who had run ahead, and was loudly knocking at the door.
"Why, they don't seem to know we are here," gasped Clare.
At this instant the door was opened, and Tom saw his wife's father, who, with troubled face, exclaimed, "Glad to see you, poor fellow! Here, little Tom, come, see your daddy."
Clare walked into the room, and seeing his wife's mother, who was seated on a chair by the fire, advanced to her, and taking her hand, quietly said, "Where's my dear Polly?"
The poor creature, evidently too much overcome to speak, with trembling lips pointed to her husband, who was watching her with a pained expression of countenance.
"Wh—why—what does this mean? Where is my wife. Mother, what makes you look so? Surely she is—"
"Tom," cried the old man, "it ain't no good to deceive you now. Polly is dead. She died the sixteenth of August three year ago, and—God forgive us!—we have let you be in the dark all this time, fearin' it would be too much for you."